


The Guy In 221B

by fiveainley_ohmy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Classic Rock, Flirting, Fluff, John is a good singer, M/M, Making out in the laundry room, Music, Sherlock Plays the Violin, Shy Sherlock, The Girl In 14G, gratuitous use of Beatles lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 23:11:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6630943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiveainley_ohmy/pseuds/fiveainley_ohmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...likes to play his violin on his balcony. John is enchanted.</p><p>One night while Sherlock is practicing his music, the downstairs neighbor starts to sing along. And he sounds /good/.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Guy In 221B

There were two reasons John thought Apartment 221C was perfect. One, the rent was cheap. And two...the guy in 221B.

John'd never met the guy (or it could be a girl, he supposed) in 221B. But he'd sure as hell _heard_ him. Most people were unfortunate enough to live under someone who had loud sex or threw disruptive raves that lasted long into the night. But John figured he had found the best apartment ever.

The first night it happened, the first night he was staying in his new place, John was taken by surprise. His ears pricked up at the sound of beautiful, melancholy violin music floating in through the window from outside. Curious, John stepped out onto his balcony.

The sound was coming from above, that was obvious. It was some classical piece John couldn't name, but whatever it was, it was beautiful. John ended up standing on his deck for several minutes, transfixed by the haunting melody.

Once the piece was done, John couldn't help it. He burst into applause. He was totally in awe.

Suddenly, there were scuffling footsteps up above and the sound of a door slamming. John laughed and went back inside to finish what little unpacking he had left to do.

* * *

Shit. Sherlock had a new neighbor.

A neighbor who'd heard him _playing_ , for God's sake. And not just playing any old piece, one of his own original compositions! How mortifying.

Sherlock, once inside, sniffed. Well...so what? It was his balcony. He paid the same rent as whoever had moved in downstairs. As long as they didn't complain, who cared?

But...they'd _applauded_. They _liked_ Sherlock's playing. Sherlock found his cheeks heating up at the thought.

Oh, who cared if the new neighbor (most likely a male judging from the reverberations of the claps-bigger hands than the average woman, short fingers, slightly meaty; a single male at that, no wedding ring) liked his playing? Even idiots liked pretty music.

But then why wasn't Sherlock's blush going away? Dammit.

* * *

The second night, John was cooking pasta for himself and was thinking about settling in with a book (he had yet to find a cheap TV to install in his small living room) when he heard the music again. A smile germinated on John's face as he went outside again, making sure to be quiet so the person didn't hear him and run off again.

Tonight, 221B was playing a frantic piece (John thought he recognized it - it was that song about the bees). John could visualize (long slender) fingers doing a St. Vitus's jig over the strings, the other arm moving back and forth vigorously to keep tempo. The piece sounded difficult, but if there were any mistakes, John didn't hear them.

After a moment, to John's pleasant surprise, the violin started up again, in a tune that was very familiar to John. John just couldn't help sing along.

 _If I fell in love with you,_  
_would you promise to be true,_  
_and help me understand?_

The music stopped abruptly again, but before 221B could scurry off again, John continued singing.

 _'Cause I've been in love before,_  
_and I've found that love was more_  
_than just holding hands._

Cautiously, the violin music started up again.

 _If I give my heart to you,_  
_I must be sure, from the very start_  
_that you would love me more than her._

 _If I trust in you, oh please,_  
_don't run and hide if I love you too._  
_Oh, please, don't hurt my pride like her._  
_'Cause I couldn't stand the pain, and I_  
_would be sad if I knew love was in vain..._

They finished out the whole song together, a flawless two part harmony. After the last line ("... _if I fell in love with you_."), John poked his head over the side of the railing and looked up. He couldn't spot any sign of his partner. "Hey, um...d'ya mind looking down here?" John called up, feeling awkward. "I was wondering what you look like."

John heard footsteps again, contrarily backing away from the edge. 221B was obviously shy. John laughed good-naturedly. "Alright, then. Maybe some other time...oh, shit, my pasta's boiling over! Same time tomorrow night?"

Silence from 221B.

"I'll take that as a maybe," John chuckled again. "Alright. Goodnight!" And hurried inside to turn off the burner.

* * *

Sherlock's heart was pounding as he went inside and closed the door.

Oh...oh my _God_...

221C had an _incredible_ voice. A warm, crinkly tenor (so Sherlock had been right, it was a man) that floated up to his ears like evaporating water molecules on a sunny day. Sherlock had almost wanted to stop playing because he wanted to just hear _that voice_.

Sherlock knew he'd be hearing it in his dreams that night.

The third night, Sherlock was most definitely _not_ waiting around, listening with his ear pressed to the floor for the muffled sounds of a key turning in a lock and a door being opened and closed to admit 221C into his apartment. But when Sherlock just...happened to hear his downstairs neighbor arrive home (from work, perhaps?), he flung himself at his open violin case, lying in wait, with sheet music lying beside it, and rushed out onto his deck and began to play. Actually, the prelude of the song was not played with a bow, but rather plucked out on the strings with his nimble fingers. Sherlock may or may not have practiced that bit beforehand.

So he wanted to improve his craft? So what? It certainly wasn't because Sherlock wanted to impress the man downstairs with the gorgeous voice. Who cared what he thought?

Sherlock was well into tonight's song, when he heard the distant sound of a flushing toilet downstairs. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Oh, how pedestrian. 221C wasn't even listening. Slightly peeved, Sherlock started playing around with some notes, idling his time till he was sure he had a captive audience.

After precisely 57 seconds had passed (no, Sherlock was not counting), the door to the balcony opened, and Sherlock immediately launched into the nimble-fingered plucking.

221C recognized the tune and came in at exactly the right time. Ah, how wonderful - a sense of pitch _and_ rhythm! Maybe you really could have it all.

 _I've just seen a face, I can't forget the time or place_  
_where we just met, she's just the girl for me,_  
_and I want all the world to see we've met, hmm-mmm-mmm-mmmmm._

 _Had it been another day, I might've looked the other way,_  
_and I'd have never been aware, but as it is,_  
_I'll dream of her tonight. Li-di-di-di-da-di._

_Fallin', yes I am fallin'. And she keeps callin', me back again._

221C was even patting his hand on the balcony railing, keeping the beat, providing percussion, oh, clever man! Sherlock was terribly tempted to peak over the edge, catch a glimpse of the hand that had applauded him two nights ago, maybe even see the tip of a shoe or...oh, even the top of his head! But Sherlock stayed back, eyes glued to the music before him.

The song ended and Sherlock lowered his arms. Waiting anxiously. After a pause, the tenor asked:

"Know any Queen?"

Ah. A classic rock fan in general. Not just the Beatles, then.

Sherlock thought for a second, then put his bow back to the strings. He played a quavering G sharp, which then dropped and floated upward (" _Can...anybody...find me..._ ")

221C joined in. " _Somebody to...love._ "

It was bit hard to sing this song solo, since Freddy did love his harmonies, but 221C was keeping up his key fairly well, to Sherlock's delight.

 _Ooh, each morning I get up I die a little;_  
_can barely stand on my feet._  
_Take a look in the mirror and cry._  
_Lord, what you're doing to me!_  
_I have spent all my years in believing you,_  
_but I just can't get no relief, Lord!_  
_Somebody, somebody, ooh somebody,_  
_can anybody find me...somebody to love?_

They finished their little concert, then 221C called up, "Hey, I gotta go inside. I'm starving. But um...this is really nice. I like doing this, with you. And you play...your music is beautiful. You should know that. Okay. Right. I'm gonna leave my door open though, so if you want to keep playing, I can listen. Er. Well. Goodnight." Then retreating footsteps.

Even with the cool night air blowing on his face, Sherlock's cheeks were warm at 221C's flattering words. He was vaguely aware that he was grinning like an idiot. After a minute, Sherlock put his violin back under his chin and began playing.

 _Oh, my love...my darlin'..._  
_I've hungered for your touch_  
_a long, lonely time..._

Sherlock had never played so many fluff pieces consecutively. He was going to have get back to practicing "real" music pretty soon. His brother would mock him if he knew what he'd been up to lately.

* * *

The fourth night, to John's disappointment, there was no music coming from his upstairs neighbor's balcony. (Though John couldn't know it, 221B had been busy working with the local police force to solve a triple homicide-it was the gardener, by the way.) John had trouble falling asleep. The nightmares came back.

The fifth night, John came home to the sound of sad, sentimental waltz music. John came outside as per usual and listened in reverent silence until the piece came to an end. "Hi," he said. "You didn't play last night. I was a little worried about you. You okay, mate?"

There was a pause. Then, the violin started up, with a jaunty little '80s tune. (" _I'm alright. Don't nobody worry 'bout me._ ") John, recognizing the tune, burst into hiccuppy giggles. 221B had just told a joke, and hadn't even had to say a word. Amazing.

"And what are we performing tonight?" John inquired.

There was another pause. Then the violin started playing again, a head-nodding rock tune. John grinned, knowing the song right away.

 _She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean;_  
_She was the best damn woman I had ever seen._  
_She had the sightless eyes, telling me no lies,_  
_knockin' me out with those American thighs._  
_Taking more than her share, had me fighting for air;_  
_She told me to come but I was already there._  
_'Cause the walls start shaking, the earth was quaking,_  
_my mind was aching, and we were making it,_  
_and you! Shook me all night long!_  
_Yeah, you...shook me all night long!_

John loved this song. And he got to act a bit sexy, without having to worry about whether anyone was looking and making fun of him. Well, it wasn't like he hadn't had his share of lovers or wasn't confident or anything, but still...221B was just _so shy_. John didn't want to scare them off. This way, John got to flirt using just his voice.

John was really getting curious about the person upstairs. Was it a man or a woman (not that that mattered one way or another to John)? Were they tall or short? Skinny or fat? Pale or dark? Brunette, blonde, red hair, _no_ hair?

After a few more songs, John stuck his head over the side of the railing again, looking up. "Hey, I don't wanna intrude or anything, mate. But I really wanna see you. I'm dying to know what you look like. Can you look down here for me? Please?"

221B hesitated. Then they took up their playing again, sad and sweet. (" _Goodnight, my love. The tired old moon is ascending. Goodnight, my love. My moment with you is now ending..._ ")

John's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Okay. One of these days, though. Goodnight." He went inside, but left the door open.

* * *

Sherlock was kicking himself as he was preparing for bed. Why couldn't he just do it? Why couldn't he just work up the nerve to look over the edge?

Because then 221C would see him with his horsey face and his messy hair and his alien cheekbones and his stupid freckles and his creepy eyes and his freakishly long skinny neck and wouldn't want anything more to do with him, that was why. Sherlock sighed, pulling the covers over himself.

Sherlock hated to admit that he'd spent the previous night Googling famous '70s-'80s (telling of what the man's age may be, around the same age as himself, maybe a couple of years older; the development of the man's voice reaffirmed that theory) rock songs so he could have a vast repertoire to share with 221C. He'd picked the ACDC song in particular because he thought it'd fit 221C's range well. It did. They all did. 221C had a voice like Apollo. Ugh, it wasn't fair.

He probably looked the part too. Muscular...blonde, maybe. Blue eyes, a sexy smile. Sherlock hadn't expected 221C to sing the song so... _sensually_ , but now it had Sherlock wondering about the transport that voice carried out from. Not that he didn't wonder before, but now he really wanted to know. For...less than innocent reasons.

One thing that irked Sherlock about the whole ordeal, was the fact that 221C always sang "she". Or "her". Or "girl". Sherlock knew those were the lyrics to the songs that the writers had set, but still, 221C could change the pronouns occasionally.

Why would he do that? He's probably straight, with a beautiful girlfriend or something! Sherlock grumped to himself. All the more reason not to show him my face and let him know he's been flirting with a man this whole time.

Scowling, Sherlock turned over and shut his eyes.

Then, an idea came to him.

He could set it in motion tomorrow. He really was a genius.

The sixth night, the experiment was put into action. Sherlock started them out with another '80s rock song. As he played the prelude, he held his breath.

Then 221C began singing.

 _I saw him dancin' there by the record machine._  
_I knew he musta been about seventeen._  
_He was goin' strong, playin' my favorite song._  
_And I could tell it wouldn't be long till he was with me, yeah, me._  
_And I could tell it wouldn't be long till he was with me, yeah, me, singin',_  
_I love rock 'n' roll, so put another dime in the jukebox, baby._  
_I love rock 'n' roll, so come on, take your time, and dance with me._

Sherlock felt like jumping for joy. 221C was singing male pronouns!

Calm down, a rational portion of his brain said. It doesn't necessarily mean anything. He probably just respects artists' poetic license. That's all. Besides, even if 221C does like men, why would he ever like _you?_

Sherlock had to agree.

But a braver, more idiotic part of himself wanted to push the envelope.

The last song of the night was not classic rock.

Sherlock, taking a nervous breath, played a series of staccato notes. He was probably about to ruin everything. 221C probably hated this song. He probably wouldn't even know the-

 _I threw a wish in the well._  
_Don't ask me, I'll never tell._  
_I looked to you as it fell,_  
_and now you're in my way._  
_I'd trade my soul for a wish,_  
_pennies and dimes for a kiss._  
_I wasn't lookin' for this,_  
_but now you're in my way.Your stare was holdin',_  
_ripped jeans, skin was showin';_  
_hot night, wind was blowin'._  
_Where you think you're goin', baby?_

 _Hey, I just met you._  
_And this is crazy._  
_But here's my number._  
_So call me maybe?_  
_And all the other boys_  
_try to chase me._  
_But here's my number._  
_So call me maybe?_

By the end of it, 221C was laughing. Oh that wonderful, warm, rich laugh. "You asking me out, 221B?" he asked.

Sherlock's cheeks were hot. Maybe he would, some time. But not tonight. He simply picked up his bow and began to play Brahms' lullaby as a send off.

"Okay. G'night, beautiful," said 221C, going inside, and leaving his door open until Sherlock was finished, like always.

This was crazy. 221C hadn't even _lived_ here a week ago, and now Sherlock believed he was falling madly in love with him. What was wrong with him?

Sherlock didn't get along with people. He didn't make friends. Certainly never had any lovers. Now he was...could _this_  even be considered dating? Dating(?) someone, whose face he'd never even seen! Just a voice. 221C had even less than that of him to go on (which was probably better in the long run). _Beautiful_ , 221C had called him. Sherlock scoffed at that as he looked in the mirror. It was clear 221C had no idea what he looked like.

He probably does think I'm a woman, thought Sherlock sadly. Men don't call other men beautiful.

But then again, men didn't usually call women "mate", either.

Sherlock sadly went to bed.

* * *

The seventh day was laundry day.

John couldn't believe he had lived here almost an entire week. Of course, settling in his new place had been made easier by his friend upstairs. John wondered when he was finally going to get to see the face behind the music.

What...what if John had been making a fool of himself? What if 221B was a straight man or a lesbian? What if 221B was married or in a relationship or something? 221B may have found all that flirting insulting. And even if 221B liked men - what if they didn't like _John_? John was pushing forty. He was short, stocky, and had greying blonde hair and a scar on his shoulder. He may not be what 221B was looking for at all.

The laundry room was in the basement. John went down there with his basket and his detergent. His head was buzzing with music again. So when he entered the basement, he was singing idly to himself. He wasn't really paying attention to anything, so he didn't notice that he wasn't alone at first as he began loading up one of the machines.

" _Would you believe in a love at first sight? Yes, I'm certain that it happens all the time. What do you see when you turn out the light? I can't tell you, but I know it's mine. Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends. Oh, I get-_ "

John stopped at the sound of a sudden small gasp. John turned to look...

...and saw the most beautiful man in the whole world, standing not ten steps away from him, clutching a laundry basket of his own, staring back at him, wide-eyed.

"Oh, I'm sorry," John apologized, his ears heating up. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

The man (the _angel_ was more accurate) licked his lips shyly. "You never disturb me," he mumbled, casting his gaze to the floor.

"I never disturb-wait. You mean _you're_...?"

 _221B_ was standing right in front of him. And he was absolutely perfect.

Amazed, John took a few steps toward the other man. "Holy shit...you are..."

221B tensed.

"...completely _gorgeous_ ," John breathed.

221B looked up, eyebrows raised, as if that wasn't what he was expecting at all.

"What? You don't know? Have you ever looked in a mirror?" John laughed.

221B was blushing, flustered. "Oh gosh, I'm sorry," said John, taking a step back. "Sometimes I don't know when to shut up. Erm...I'm John, by the way. John Watson."

221B set his basket aside and hesitantly shook his offered hand. "Sherlock Holmes."

"Unusual. But pretty. I like it. It suits you," John grinned.

"Y-your name is nice too," Sherlock mumbled.

"Eh. It's pretty common."

"N-no, no! It's _strong_. Manly. Like you." Sherlock seemed to blush harder, looking away again.

John chuckled, flattered. "Sorry about the flirting from before. Unless you liked it. Then I am very much not sorry at all."

A tiny smile was curling up at the corners of Sherlock's pretty mouth. "I liked it," he softly murmured.

"Good. I meant every word. Or note."

Sherlock laughed bashfully.

"Are you a concert violinist?"

"Oh no, I just play as a hobby."

"Well you should do it professionally. I bet you'd be even better than that Yo Yo guy."

"Yo Yo Ma? He's a cellist."

"Oh. Sorry, I don't know much about classical music stuff. Well, what _do_ you do?"

"I'm a consulting detective. The only one in the world."

"A detective? What, solving crimes, looking for clues, that sort of thing?"

"Sort of, yes. I have a blog, 'The Science Of Deduction'. Through process of elimination, I can tell facts about people simply from looking at them."

" _Really_? What can you tell about me?"

"Mmm...well, you're an army doctor, I know that."

"Holy shit. How'd you know?"

"You loaded up with your machine with hospital whites, but your haircut and posture says military. Easy enough."

"Mmm, half marks."

"What?"

"You said you could deduce me from looking at _me_ , not my laundry. So you get half marks."

"I beg your pardon! I'll have you know, my skills are highly sought after." Sherlock was smirking.

"Oh, I bet they are," John growled seductively, having taken a step closer to Sherlock.

Sherlock found himself quite breathless all of a sudden. "Do you like Italian?" he squeaked.

"I do. Why?" John smiled.

 _Shit._  Sherlock had been right. John _did_ have a sexy smile.

Sherlock swallowed. "I know a good place nearby. Angelo's. I got the owner off of a murder charge one time."

John's eyes twinkled. "Are you asking me to have dinner, Sherlock Holmes?"

Sherlock imagined he was bright red. At some point in the conversation, they had ended up with John in front of Sherlock, mere inches between their bodies, Sherlock's back side pressed up against a washing machine. "Y-yes," he squeaked.

John nodded. "Good. Then I accept."

"Good."

"Good."

"Good."

John chuckled. "What great conversationalists we are."

"Indeed," laughed Sherlock shyly.

"Although..." John's eyes were sparkling devilishly. "There are more _interesting_ things we could be doing with our mouths right now."

Sherlock grinned back excitedly. "I'd be very interested in those interesting things."

Suddenly John's lips were on his, claiming his mouth, kissing him eagerly. His musky scent filled Sherlock's nostrils and intoxicated him. All coherent thoughts left Sherlock's brain, as his arms came up to twine around John's neck, kissing him back fervently. He supported himself against the washer as his knees went weak. John laughed fondly, wrapping his strong arms around Sherlock's waist and holding him close.

As Sherlock's lips parted to let in John's tongue, Sherlock felt John grab ahold of the underside of his thighs and hoist him up onto the washing machine. Sherlock's legs curled around John's waist, pulling him as close as physically possible.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock," John gasped into his mouth.

"Mm, John," Sherlock sighed back, incapable of putting together words to make real sentences at the moment.

Roughly twenty minutes later, however, the two regrettably had to pull apart so John could transfer his load from the washer to the dryer. Sherlock's lips felt swollen. Good.

"I have to go," he said ruefully, gathering up his basket. "I told my colleague at Scotland Yard I'd go check out a murder victim for him. But, I'll, um, see you tonight, maybe? At 6?"

"Six is great, love," said John. "Just swing by my place when you're ready. You already know where I live." He grinned.

"Right," blushed Sherlock. "Well...see you at six, then."

"Six." John pulled him in for one more kiss, soft, sweet. "I can't wait."

 _221C, 221B:_  
_A most unlikely duet,_  
_Not quite two part harmony._  
_All day and night we're singing..._

_I've had my fill of peace and quiet._  
_Shout out loud, "I've changed my diet!"_  
_All because of...221B!_

**Author's Note:**

> Songs used or mentioned:  
> -"The Bee" by Franz Schubert (because what else would Sherlock play?)  
> -"If I Fell In Love With You" by The Beatles  
> -"I've Just Seen A Face" by The Beatles  
> -"Somebody To Love" by Queen  
> -"Unchained Melody" by The Righteous Brothers  
> -"I'm Alright" by Kenny Loggins  
> -"You Shook Me All Night Long" by ACDC  
> -"Goodnight, My Love" by Dean Martin  
> -"I Love Rock N Roll" by Joan Jett and The Blackhearts  
> -"Call Me Maybe" by Carly Rae Japsen  
> -"With A Little Help From My Friends" by the Beatles  
> -"The Girl In 14G" made popular by Kristin Chenoweth


End file.
